


43. Valor or crown

by tveckling



Series: Dare to Write challenge [47]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types
Genre: As in it's left ambiguous, Canon Era, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 10:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10242170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: His uncle had never put much faith in destiny. A man creates his own life, not some otherworldly deity up among the stars, he had said when Mercutio was small. That mindset had certainly shaped Mercutio as he grew, and he was proud of his own defiance of any fates, traditions, or rules; he was the one deciding his own life, no one else.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercutioLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercutioLives/gifts).



His uncle had never put much faith in destiny. A man creates his own life, not some otherworldly deity up among the stars, he had said when Mercutio was small. That mindset had certainly shaped Mercutio as he grew, and he was proud of his own defiance of any fates, traditions, or rules; he was the one deciding his own life, no one else.

But as he grew more he couldn’t stop himself from understanding more about the world surrounding him. He still didn’t believe in some unknown God dictating his life, but he could see with his own eyes the many people dictating his uncle's—who would one day dictate his own life. There were advisors, ambassadors, foreign leaders, nobles and merchants, even the regular people had opportunities to come to the Prince and make themselves heard. And the Prince would have to listen, whether he wanted to or not. That was what a Prince’s life entailed: responsibilities to any and all.

It scared him. Mercutio was secure enough in himself that he could admit that, at least in the lonesome of his room. There might not be an all-seeing ruler who forced you to dance the steps he had laid out, but instead you had numerous people that each pulled you in the direction they wanted. How could that be better?

So Mercutio ran, from responsibility, from his birth, from his future. He spent his time with his friends, drinking and making merry and barely spending a night in the palace. The days were filled roaming, searching for any sort of amusement, and during the nights it wasn’t hard to find warm, willing bodies. The sense of being absolutely free was a stronger influence on him than any amount of alcohol, and it was too easy to forget that he was running. He hadn’t actually meant to take part of the fights—he had always sneered at the stupid feud and those obsessed with maintaining it—but it had been a frustratingly warm day, his head was pleasantly buzzed by the alcohol, and the Capulets were threatening his friends. Apparently, he found out that night, a half-empty bottle could make a person fall unconscious with just one hit to the head.

What he thought of as true excitement entered his life after that day. He had gotten involved once, and he happily did it again, and again, and again. Who needed alcohol when you could have the blood rushing through your body after a good fight. He didn’t think too hard about what he was actually doing, because doing that would demand that he looked at himself and his actions and why he did what he did. It was easier not to.

He couldn’t run forever, of course. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had always known that. That’s why he only froze for a moment when he exited a tavern, one arm slung around Romeo’s shoulders and a bottle in his free hand, and saw his uncle stand there with a cold face, flanked by several guards. Mercutio recovered quickly enough and managed to step away just before Benvolio collided with his back, the laughter quickly dying as he, too, saw who was standing there.

“Might our most gracious lord be in need of service from us humble youths?” Mercutio said, taking a deep and mocking bow. His mood, which had been bright and cheerful just seconds earlier, had turned sour. He hadn’t spoken with his uncle for over a year.

“I will have words with you, Mercutio,” the Prince commanded and waited.

Mercutio understood that he was the one meant to move, so he deliberately took a swig from his bottle and nodded graciously. “Very well. Do go ahead and speak your words. I can’t stand here the whole night, I’m sure you understand. Places to go, bottles to empty, holes to fill. I’m a very busy man.”

He could feel the stares burrowing into his head, and the thought of Benvolio and Romeo’s horrified faces made him want to laugh. It was barely that he managed to push down his mirth, and he took another swig to cover his grin. He had drunk too much, he was fully aware of that, but that also meant that he was past the point of caring about it. There was no part of him that cared about his uncle’s opinions or reaction at the moment, and that meant he could speak however he wanted.

Mercutio had thought of a dozen different ways his uncle could react, but he was caught completely by surprise when the Prince walked forward and laid a heavy hand on the nape of his neck, then snatched the bottle from his hand and threw it carelessly to the side. The crashing sound was so loud in his ears, and he couldn’t stop staring at the broken glass.

“I would advise you to go home.”

It took a moment, but then Mercutio realized that his uncle wasn’t talking to him. He wondered if either of his friends would defy the underlying command, but immediately disregarded the thought. Of course they wouldn’t. No one in their right mind defied the Prince to his face. And unlike Mercutio both Benvolio and Romeo still had theirs fully intact, somehow. It took longer than he had expected, but soon he heard them move away. He was left behind, with his uncle and his guards.

“You’re coming home now,” the Prince said in a low voice, his hand heavy and warm where it still rested on Mercutio’s neck.

“And what, pray tell, would that serve? Oh, I’m sure my tutors have all been so relieved to be rid of me. Hasn’t it been a good time for you, to be able to do your princely duties without having to worry about me or the mischief I might cause? I’m sure it must have been nice, to finally have me out of mind and thought. Why would you even want me to come back?” Mercutio kept on staring at the slowly drying alcohol, and felt the remorse cool in his stomach. That had been fine wine, and expensive too. Oh, such waste hurt.

“Wait, you thought I didn’t wo-” The Prince stopped himself and took a deep breath, but his hand was squeezing tighter on Mercutio. Not that he was going to remark on it. “It doesn’t matter what you think. I have given you plenty of time to run around as you wish, but now my leniency has come to an end. All young men need to fly free some time in their life, but you have a duty to attend to, and it is time you stop playing around.”

Mercutio snorted and shook his head, testing the strength of the grip on his neck. The hand didn’t move. “I doubt the Capulet fighters would agree with your use of ‘play’ there, dearest uncle. More than one of them have found that my ‘play’ has more bite than they expected.”

“So I’ve heard,” the Prince said, and his hand tightened even more. He sounded angry, and Mercutio couldn’t for his life understand why. Probably because he had involved himself in a feud that he had no actual ties to. A Prince must be always be impartial, and now Mercutio had clearly taken a side. Yes, that must be why.

“You are going home with me now, and you will cease involving yourself in pointless strife you have no part of. This is not a choice, Mercutio,” the Prince warned when Mercutio opened his mouth to argue. “You have risked yourself too many times needlessly. What if you had been disfigured or lost some limb? What if you had been killed?”

“I suppose I wouldn’t have had to deal with this situation,” Mercutio answered flippantly, rolling his eyes.

“And you don’t even think of anyone else who cares about you. Have you drunk so much that you forgot your own brother? How do you think Valentine would have felt if you had died in such a senseless way?”

Mercutio opened his mouth but found no words. He hadn’t thought of Valentine like that. He hadn’t thought of Valentine at all, truth be told, and the shame of it filled him now. The only one he had thought of was himself, and so he had left his brother behind. But Valentine was far better suited to be Prince than him, Mercutio argued in his own head. He was much more like their uncle, and already excelled at most classes better than Mercutio did, even though he was four years younger.

“Valentine would be fine,” he said slowly.

“I wouldn’t advise you to say that to his face, but I know you won’t listen to a word I say.” Finally the hand released him, but strangely Mercutio missed the warmth of it. “It doesn’t matter. Come now. I’m going, and you are coming with me.”

The guards started closing in on those words, and Mercutio let a bark of laughter escape him. There really was no choice, then. Whether he wanted to or not he was going back to the palace that night, but there was no way they could keep him there once he had sobered up. He knew the building too well, and he had been able to come and go from the palace for years. For now he just had to go along, which he did, giving the two guards following behind him a cheeky grin.

When he got to his room he would be able to think more. He had been running, yes, and maybe his uncle was right that he had to stop. He would have to choose.

If he stayed he would have to become Prince, stepping into the same controlled life he had seen his uncle endure. But he would also have his family with him, his uncle and his brother, and he could make good. He could help his friends in ways he was powerless to do now. He could be adored or feared, or somewhere in between, depending on how he chose to rule. Just because they pulled you in all directions didn’t mean you had to let them topple you over.

If he left he would be free, able to go where the urge took him and do whatever he pleased. There would be no one to control him or pull him in any direction. He could drink, and fuck, and fight anyone he wanted, for any cause he felt like. There was a whole world to explore, and beautiful men and women to charm. But he would also be leaving his family and friends behind, because if he didn’t want to be Prince he would have to leave Verona. His home. That was the only way to truly escape it.

There was no one else who could make the choice for him. He had to decide.


End file.
